Ice statues
by Arianka
Summary: Anger, common sense, devotion, determination. Nerdanel-centric character study, a bit AU-ish.


I'm hardly celebrating Valentine's Day and so do Tolkien characters, but... Somehow it turned having more devotion than I planned. I was trying to write Nerdanel to give her a bit of appreciation in Feanor's family, but she turned it upside down and decided to tell a different story. So, I kind of let her.

* * *

 **Ice statues**

She promised herself to turn away and never look behind, never turn her head towards the way her husband and sons disappeared along with the majority of their folk. The proud hosts defied the Valar and went their own way, struggling in the suffocating darkness. Anxious, yet determined and proud. Scared, no doubt, but also lifted with the prospects Feanaro drew with his voice.

Her sons went too. Of course they did; they followed their father and she couldn't blame them, not really. She knew the power Feanaro had in his voice, the way he could capture and enchant the crowd if he wished to.

She heard him; she stood there in this crowd. She came as soon as she heard what had happened. She sought him and their children, willing to offer support, for there was no comfort in such terrible hour for the son of Finwe. She came, because despite all the differences that drew them apart in the previous years, she still did love him.

But Feanaro would listen to no one. She understood that as she listened to his powerful yet poisonous words and saw the Noldor turn to him. She did hear the words of the oath he voiced, the words their sons repeated without second thought. And she felt as if she was the only one truly understanding the meaning of this condemnation, at least then. For later it became clear that the oath weighed upon them.

She promised herself not to look back and returned home to hide in her studio. She was a talented student of her father, yet as the years came and she matured, sculpting was the art she had mastered. Like Feanaro forged his magnificent jewels, she captured the beauty of both elves and the nature. But the marble statues were dead, so awfully dead she cried. For the first time in years she cried, surrounded by dead images of her family, while said family was leaving forever.

She promised. But as her eyes dried and the news of the fight in Alqualonde reached the household of her father, she broke her silent vow. She packed her things and her tools and rushed to join the ones she was about to lose. It was a mistake, she knew. Feanaro could not have been right this time. Perhaps she needed to tell him that one more time. She hoped his rage had dimmed enough to listen to reason.

How foolish she was! She cried bitter tears as she stood beside Findekano on the icy shore and watched the fire burning from afar. Feanaro was a damn fool if he thought he stopped them – she knew it the moment she looked at Nolofinwe, Findekano and the rest of her husband's family. He was a fool and she was going to have a word with him.

This was easier said than done, though. Long way awaited the host of Nolofinwe; long, bitter and dangerous, but not the one that would stop them. Only Arafinwe showed some sense and returned to the city; part of her wished to follow him, but her mind was set – she had quite a few things to say to her family and the list was just growing longer. And so she went.

She had always loved ice. She remembered the trips with Feanaro in their youth, when they would wander far and explore the lands not inhabited by the elves, only by spirits and creatures beyond their comprehension. She remembered her beloved being enthusiastic over learning new things, but most of all she remembered her own fascination with snow and ice. It was so much different than the marble she was used to carving in. Much more fleeting than stone, yet all the more beautiful and valuable, like the moments they shared away from the court and society. She could never work with ice at home, so she cherished the possibility every time she got one.

By the time they got to Middle-Earth, she learned to hate and respect the ice. She no longer saw it as an interesting material. Ice meant cold, danger and death. She had seen elves turn into frozen figures, morbid statues where hroa no longer could house fea. She dreamt of light and fire in the forge. And of stone.

Like many others, she used her rage and grief to fuel her determination; it could have been so easy to give up. But unlike many, she made the journey to the end, she had not disappeared under the tricky ice. She endured Helcaraxe only to learn that her Feanaro was no longer among living, that he had fallen and left their sons in charge.

She could not face them; not just yet. Instead, she travelled back north up to the shores where the sea turned to ice. Her tools were worn out, some of them lost during the journey, but she had enough to make one ice statue of her Spirit of Fire.


End file.
